Chapter 101: Chapter 101

LEBLANC...

She's looking at me, her big blue eyes expectant, making me feel like the worst person in the world. Hope glimmers in every blink, and I, like the asshole that I am, am about to lie to Angelic.

- And then? she asks as she holds me transfixed with her disgracefully beautiful eyes.

Being a good liar doesn't mean I enjoy lying, and more, it doesn't mean I enjoy lying to her. However, I have no options left. I nod my head, because I believe false gestures are less cruel than false words.

"Just be honest," she pleads.

No. No way.

I'm leaning against the kitchen jamb, meanwhile, Angelic is behind the counter, in front of the stove. In my right hand is something she just cooked. Angelic said they were chocolate chip cookies. She said they were Christmas cookies. But honestly, I still haven't found the taste of chocolate, just burnt dough and sadness. This is really bad. In fact, bad is an understatement. It's a disgrace.

- It is very bad? She frowns.

Right now, Angelic is the most beautiful creature in the world. Her hair is piled up on top of her head, and she's wearing nothing but one of my button-down shirts. And as much as she's pretty, she's a disaster in the kitchen.

In another time, I would have had no problem lying to her. These days, I'm out of shape.

- Just missing... - I look for the word that would least hurt your feelings - Sugar.

I am very impressed that an engineering student is capable of producing something so ugly to the eyes. I thought aesthetics were important for anyone who likes to decorate.

- So you didn't hate it? Her eyes widen, along with a smile.

Hating doesn't come close to feeling. Eating this imitation toxic waste was the greatest act of chivalry in history. I mean, I'm glad she's busy in the kitchen, but I'd be even happier if I hadn't digested this cookie.

'I didn't hate it,' I say.

- You barely ate - she crosses her arms below her breasts.

I used to not like spoiled girls, and now I remember exactly why. Angelic is not content with what he has, only with what he wants. And now she wants to be a good cook. And considering that I am unable to go back to eating anything her hands make, I think she's in for a big disappointment.

However, his expectant eyes are still on me. I bring the horrible cookie to my mouth. On the one hand, I feel my stomach protest, threatening to give up everything I ate for breakfast. On the other side, I see Angelic smiling and clapping her hands.

Shit.

My gut health or your happiness? What a fucking tough decision.

I bite off another bite, holding my breath to ward off the taste of death. For God's sake, it looks like the devil himself cooked this with his feet. I swallow before I can even chew properly. It's a good thing I don't have neighbors, otherwise the lawsuit for attempted intoxication would be a certainty.

- I'm sure it's just sugar. Otherwise, it's great.

- Unbelievable! – she claps more hands – I'm a cook.

Angelic throws the kitchen gloves onto the counter and runs over to me. She throws herself into my lap, and I, thankfully, have to throw the cookie to the floor to catch her. Maybe the radiation makes my entire kitchen uninhabitable. Angelic hugs my torso with her legs.

- I want to cook every day – his words sound like a threat, one I'm afraid of.

Holy. God.

- Let the cook help you. You can learn new recipes.

Her pupils dilate because she's excited about the idea. I understand your enthusiasm. One of the most important people in Angelic's life was Elliot's cook, Genevieve. However, I'm not old enough to put my digestive system in check.

Please accept. I am capable of begging on my knees.

- Yes! Yes! Yes!

Angelic kisses me all over my face. She is euphoric. And if lying about her cooking is the only way to make her happy, so be it. Worth it. I can live with your bad food. I mean, maybe I won't live that long. But until I die of an intestinal infection, I'll be a happy man.

She slides off my lap, turning to the counter.

"I want Manfred to experience this," she says.

I almost choke on a laugh. A sincere and spontaneous laugh. Manfred is a fussy cook, and I'm anxious to see how he pretends these cookies are better than dirt. Manfred and Angelic met yesterday, and knowing that old man as I do, I know he likes her. This means that he will suffer to lie.

'That's a great idea,' I say.

Angelic grabs the oven dish full of cookies and runs out of the kitchen. In the process, her hair comes loose and falls down her back as she hurries up the stairs. Seeing her inhabiting my house, the place where I spent lonely and silent years, is unsettling. Makes me think my peace is over. However, it also makes me feel warm. Makes me feel alive.

I spent two years on this island, and sometimes days went by without speaking a word. Manfred often came out, talking to me about how the city was getting more and more crowded, or dirty, or brighter.

But now this creature is in my house, filling the kitchen with smoke and smearing every surface with putty. She's become a part of my life, and I'm not about to let her go. For this reason, I brought you to this island, where, if I don't want to, not even God can touch me.

The cell phone rings in my pocket, and considering the silence of the past few days, I know it's Valentino. So I answer.

- Running away from me? - he asks. His tone is loaded with that low level of irony: sarcasm.

- I'm protecting my girl, something you couldn't do for your own son.

- Oh... – he lets out a bitter laugh – I'm going to shoot her with thirty shots just for what you just said.

- Good luck, then - with that, I hang up.

Valentino is not someone I want to underestimate. He has anger and determination, two things that rarely go together, but when they do, they are catastrophic. And, apparently, he's stocked up on informants and information in recent months. His only mistake was thinking that I would be unprepared for this type of situation. I can sin by being too careful, never by being too careful.

At all access points to the island, there is a team of snipers to ensure security. I have air and water monitoring at all hours of the day. There is not even a grain of sand moving without my knowledge.

I walk towards the stairs, because maybe Angelic killed Manfred with his radioactive cookies. And, I have to confess, I miss her. The person who liked absolute silence was the old me. Now, I'm more than used to the incessant mess that Donneli is. I almost do.

I climb the stairs and head to the master bedroom. Before I even reach the door, I hear heavy, ragged sighs coming from inside. The low cry makes my heart race, because I know it's coming from her. God knows compassion has never been my strong point, yet He also knows that this woman's pain is my weakness.

I turn the knob and push open the door. I find Angelic kneeling on the floor, covering her face with her hands. Manfred stands before her, holding her shoulders and allowing her to cry into his chest. For a brief second, I think this is a possible reaction to the fact that Manfred hated his cookies.

Manfred looks up at me, and the pain in his eyes makes me uneasy.

- What happened? - I murmur.

- Elliot Donneli - is all he says. In fact, that's all you need to say.

I walk slowly towards Angelic. Manfred stands up, squeezing her shoulders in comfort. I nod, indicating he can leave. Not that I'm good at consoling people, as most of the time I'm the cause of their suffering. But now, I want to be the rock that holds it up.

I kneel before Angelic. I grab her wrists and slowly pull my hands away from her face. Blue eyes turn to me, red and puffy.

- He died – she sniffles – It was my fault.

I pull her to me. Angelic holds me as if we could merge. Her face sinks into my chest as she shakes and cries.

My most sincere feeling is anger. Elliot doesn't deserve the tears she's shedding. He wouldn't mourn Angelic this way. But I understand that your pain has nothing to do with his worthiness.

- No. Not at all – I guarantee it.

- I reminded him to do the treatment. I... - Her voice is lost in the midst of crying.

Her pain stems from the fact that Angelic lost her mother when she was still a child. She couldn't even help with the treatments. And with Elliot, even though he didn't deserve it, she did something useful. She felt like she was saving him.

"I'm sorry" I kiss her hair.

I notice that the television behind me is on. I begin to pay attention to what the reporter says about the sudden death of the president of the United States, in the last days of his term. And if Angelic wasn't devastated, I would be glad he was dead.

- He stopped the treatments. This would never have happened if I had been there - Angelic speaks again.

- Angelic – I seek her face, framing it with my hands and making her look at me – There is no subtle way to say this, but he didn't want to be helped – I whisper, because words spoken aloud can seem rude.

“He gave up being my father,” she rambles on.

Your pain isn't just about losing your father to death, it's about losing your father while he was still alive.

- I feel sorry for Elliot - I say - You were the best daughter he could have.

Angelic wipes her cheeks with the backs of her fingers. The tears have stopped, but she's still sniffling.

- Margot is pregnant. She will do anything to keep me away from the family's possessions, including what was my mother's.

I know she doesn't care about material possessions. Angelic doesn't care about riches because it has always been a part of her life. However, she does care for her mother's memory. She cares for everything that was the first Mrs. Donneli.

- If this is a fight you want to pick...

- It doesn't matter. The one that belonged to my mother in that house died many years ago – she stares at her hands clasped in her lap – I just don't understand...

- What?

- Why did Elliot prefer Margot? I wasn't a bad daughter, was I?

If I had the choice, I'd rather be shot than listen to Angelic whine about things that were out of her control. And more, for things she didn't choose. Seeing her act like Elliot's abandonment was her fault and not his makes me fall apart.

How can I show that she's just perfect?

How can I prove he never deserved her?

How can I prove that its presence alone is synonymous with luck?

- Of course not – I say – Elliot chose Margot because they match.

LEBLANC...

His hand is warm against mine, and somehow its warmth and softness are comforting. It's not like she's a foreign body next to mine, it's like she's an extension.

We walked down the stairs hand in hand, just like we did yesterday, and the day before yesterday, and the day before that. Of course, I am sometimes surprised at how desirable this creature's presence has become.

Angelic smiles as she enters the kitchen, as Wanda, the cook, agreed to be her tutor and help her cook. This is great, as the future engineer is capable of erecting a building, but not of making the simplest food in a decent way.

- Good morning, Wanda – Angelic lets go of my hand and runs behind the counter.

She is beautiful at all times, even when she doesn't make the slightest effort to be. The very light hair contrasting with the very blue eyes. Pink cheeks and lips. The long, thick eyelashes. In fact, it's so beautiful it makes me want to burn that image into my head. And maybe not just in my head, but also on a screen. She deserves to be painted in every color and canvas in the world.

However, I refuse to say any of my thoughts out loud. I'm ridiculous enough buying flowers and holding hands. And besides, Angelic already knows she's pretty. Restating would only serve to inflate your ego.

I lean my side against the kitchen doorframe and watch Wanda frown every time Angelic approaches the salt shaker. Not knowing how to measure spices is one of his many culinary gifts.

Angelic is still grieving. I have no property to say when this moment ends. However, I know that she gets sad every time she turns on the television and sees news about her father. And with that in mind, I'm pleased whenever she's able to smile without remembering the pain of loss.

I hear someone clear his throat behind me, and I turn toward one of the men I've stationed around the island. I need to neutralize my expression, because looking at that Donneli while she was paying attention to Wanda made me more cordial and good-natured than I really am.

- Sir - he greets. I nod - There's something in the office you'd like to see.

I have always worked to the detriment of others. I'm honest in saying that my success always, immutably, depends on the failure of others. I've never been proud of it, at least not until today. But now, those subtle words make me satisfied. For the first time in my entire career, I'll be happy doing damage.

'Great,' I say.

As soon as the man walks away, I turn to Angelic and Wanda. Both are busy putting dough into small molds. And if God exists, He won't let me be the one proving the bottom line.

- Ladies - I call. They turn to me – I'll be back in ten minutes.

- Christmas cookies are ready in ten minutes. It's instant dough.” Angelic smiles, as if being able to get back in time to try his experiment is motivating.

I fake my most condescending smile before leaving the kitchen, analogous to the devil fleeing the cross. I pass through the living room and up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. I don't usually allow myself to be anxious, but today, I insist. I mean, someone thought they could just fuck with me, call me and threaten my girl. And then he thought there would be no consequences.

Fuck, he couldn't be more wrong.

The office door is already ajar, so I just push it open. I step into the air-conditioned space, even though the blood rushing through my veins makes me hot. The view inside the office is more than encouraging. It is life-giving.

Two of my employees are standing at the mahogany desk, while a man is kneeling on the floor, head bowed. I can't see his face, but I can make out the military cut, the calloused hands and the scruffy beard. The typical appearance of someone serving in the military.

I approach in calm steps. I'm anxious but not rushed.

- Bugsy was as good as his word. This is the man.

I look up at my new hire. I've always had people like him on my payroll, but I've never had personal security or anything like that. Now I wonder why. I should have had servants doing my dirty work for me forever. It would have saved time and bullets.

- Where he was? I ask.

- We found him in the old cemetery, burying a cell phone - the other man standing answers.

I move a little closer, crouching down until I meet the eyes of the man kneeling on the floor, smearing graveyard dirt on my fucking hardwood floor.

- Do you have something to tell me? - I want to know.

The so-called Valentino looks up, scanning my face. Most likely, I am different from what he expected. Most people who work with sending souls to the underworld don't usually worry about their appearance.

He has a cut on his lower lip, and a purple bruise near his eyebrow.

- I made you feel afraid, that's enough – his voice sounds low and calm, as if he had accomplished his mission and was unshakable.

- Fear? I repeat, in case I heard wrong.

And if I wasn't quite sure that my wife is downstairs, making the most horrendous cookies cooking has ever seen, I could convince myself that de Valentino got what he wanted: to hit me. But not. He failed miserably, like all the others who thought they could touch me.

I get back up. I opted for a button-down shirt and pants. But if, this morning, I'd known I was going to have an illustrious meeting with this wretch, I would have picked out a three-piece suit. In fact, I would have bought a new one just to receive it.

I look at the men standing in front of the table, both of them motionless, their hands behind their backs and their heads held high. And then, in a clear, calm tone, I say:

- Finish it.

They nod, showing that they've heard and at the same time sounding like we're talking about the lunch menu.

Although, considering my honest feelings of revulsion for Valentino, he could be lunch.

- So easy? – Valentino speaks – Aren't you going to ask me how I got your number? Or how did you know where your little bitch was?

My.

Little bitch.

The employee on the right, whose name I really don't know, pulls the revolver out of his pants waistband and points it at Valentino. However, before the shot, I raise my hand, stopping it.

My impulsive, even overprotective side begs me to have five minutes of whack with Valentino. It would do my ego good. But honestly, fuck him. The words about Angelic that come out of his mouth will very soon be just the past of a dead man.

- I don't want my wife to hear - I say, still staring at Valentino - Take him out to sea.

The official nods, putting his revolver back in his pocket.

And when I turn to head out of the office, Valentino's eyes are etched in my mind. However, not in a disturbing way that will give me nightmares. His eyes are etched in my memory because, even though he knew these would be his last minutes of life, he used them to call my Donneli a little bitch. For God's sake!

I go down the stairs. At the end, I can already see Angelic placing the freshly baked mold on the counter. She is alone now. I think, and Wanda must also be found, that Angelic is able to take the cookies out of the oven unattended and have some percentage of success.

As I walk across the room, I find myself getting lighter with every step I take towards her. I have the feeling that I completed a service, I got rid of the burden that obligation and commitment brought me.

I walk into the kitchen, and those blue eyes travel to me, accompanied by the biggest, brightest smile.

- I finished!

This time, I don't stop at the kitchen door. I walk in, circle the counter and stop beside her. The biscuits don't look the best, but they aren't burnt. There are some shaped like a reindeer, others like a cane, and the third shape that even God couldn't identify.

Angelic looks at them reflectively, and I know his thoughts are far from Christmas cooking. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and it reminds me of the softness of the strands against my chest when she rests her head against me before going to sleep.

What can I say? Falling asleep hugging a beautiful woman is not a punishment.

"Your world is crazy," Angelic says suddenly.

I look at her, though her attention is on the cookies. I don't know if she's talking about the fact that I live on an island, or the mercenaries walking around the house, the guns, the Bronx, Yolanda... my world is crazy from many angles.

'I know,' I say.

- You never thought about having something normal? – she pushes the form to the middle of the workbench – A dog, a family, children...

I rest my forefinger under her chin, lifting her face up until I can see all of it. I also want her to see me. Do I look like someone who will drive a sedan, drive the kids to school, and then spend eight straight hours in an office?

- Do not answer.

Not because I can't, but because I don't want to. I would be a good father for sure. I'm good at everything I set out to do. However, the idea of breeding someone who will spend my money and take up my time is disappointing.

- Don't you miss it? – she insists.

- You can't miss what you never had.

Angelic frowns. Her symmetrical, too-pretty-to-be-ignored face looks all the more charming as she prepares an argument.

- I miss ice cream for breakfast, and I never had that.

Irrefutable.

I find myself smiling while still holding his chin. And as if that wasn't ridiculous enough, I lean in and press my lips against his. She tastes like brown sugar.

When I pull away, I walk over to the fridge and open it, looking inside and realizing that, until then, I had no idea what was or wasn't in my own fridge. I mean, I didn't even know there were carrots in the drawer.

I find the tub of ice cream in the freezer and pull it out, taking it to the counter.

- A problem and a solution. Simple as that,” I murmur.

It's easier to eat ice cream for breakfast than to make a child, I believe.

Angelic smiles. She opens the drawer and takes out two spoons. Maybe this is also your first time exploring a kitchen. Maybe this is your first time exploring anything other than the pompous, futile little life your father chose. And then, as she hands me one of the spoons, all I can think about is how I want her to be free.

Free and happy.

- It's all solved? – Angelic asks as she dips her spoon into the vanilla ice cream.

- Totally.

- Now you can sleep in peace.

She leans her hip against the countertop. This small gesture brings me the comforting thought that she feels good here. She feels that this is a home where she can be free. And indeed it can.

I take a step towards her, bracing my hands at my sides, trapping her between the bench and me. All of this is totally out of my comfort zone. Flour on marble, dirty dishes, sounds beyond the ocean crashing outside, and a woman smelling of sugar in the middle of the kitchen. Six months ago, to think this would be one of my mornings would have been insanity. But, damn, it's not bad.

- Since I started sleeping with you, I always sleep in peace – I confess, in a low voice in case there's an employee around – My peace ends when I wake up.